


a matter of nomenclature

by TolkienGirl



Series: Fixing on the Hour - Vignettes [6]
Category: Fixing on the Hour - TolkienGirl, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Darcy looked like a gigantic bat and that's canon, Female Friendship, First Meetings, Gen, Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12859983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: "Perfect," Bing breathed. "It's perfect. Dorothy is one of my favorite names."Darcy favored her with a blank glare. "Dorothy is nobody's favorite name."





	a matter of nomenclature

Bing knew how to keep going, mostly. The trouble was always how to _begin_.

For instance—here and now. A collection of enormous, flat rocks were piled in the quad, as though Stonehenge had sprouted a new colony, then left it uncultivated. On the largest of the rocks was the Girl. Bing had seen her at least seven times, and _always_ the Girl was morose and fabulous in black.

A mystery. Bing, who belonged to no such thing as enigma, _loved_ mysteries.

But again, how to begin? Saying, _I saw you sitting here like a gigantic and strangely romantical bat_ seemed several bridges too far. “I think we’re in class together?” she squeaked.

The Girl tilted her head, narrowed her eyes—slate gray—and then said, at length, “Yes, we are.”

“I’m Bing. It’s short for Beatrice.”

The Girl took this in stride. “I’m Darcy. It’s short for Dorothy.”

"Dorothy?" Bing said, momentarily agape. "Your full name is _Dorothy_?"

"I know," Darcy said, with a pained sigh, as though a classmate named Bing was not stranger still. "It's rather—"

" _Perfect_ ," Bing breathed. "It's perfect. Dorothy is one of my favorite names."

Darcy favored her with a blank glare. "Dorothy is nobody's favorite name. Not even my parents’," she added, after a moment's pause. "They were going to name me _Margo_ , and then something changed their minds. What that something was, I'll never know."

" Couldn't you ask them?"

"They’re dead," Darcy said flatly. And then, waving a lean, elegant hand at Bing’s expression—"Oh, don't worry—it's been years."

Bing didn't think that any number of years would be sufficient to _not_ worry, but she wasn't going to say that, not to a girl who was dressed as the Grim Reaper—if the Grim Reaper worked for _Vogue_ magazine.

"The truth is," Darcy said, "My parents didn't know the least bit about raising children. But they were good parents all the same." She picked herself up off the flat rock like a cat, and Bing tagged along beside her. The cobblestones were treacherous, if you were wearing high-heeled sandals (Bing was), and in a moment, she almost tripped. Darcy's hand caught her firmly by the elbow. "Careful there. Stilettos aren't for the faint of heart."

"I don't think anybody's ever called me faint of heart," Bing said. She might be intimidated, sure, but that didn't mean that she was going to be dissuaded from having integrity of the _heart_.

Darcy smiled. Actually _smiled_. It looked more natural on her face than Bing might have expected—but just as she had hoped. "No," she said. "I would imagine not."

“How do you know?” Bing was fascinated. “We’ve just met.”

“But we _have_ met,” Darcy said, with regal inflection. “That’s a test of character right there.”

“Why?”

“Because I sit alone for a reason,” Darcy said. “I don’t like to talk to people.”

Bing’s heart fell. “Oh…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be—I’ve changed my mind.” She lifted an eyebrow. A terrifying eyebrow. “Temporarily.”


End file.
